The Eyes of God

by John Marco

“Do not be concerned,” said Kadar. “We Jadori can look after ourselves.”

  Frustrated, Lukien glanced at Thorin, who seemed equally confused by Kadar’s attitude. He didn’t mind the kahan being evasive about Grimhold; he had expected that. But to turn a blind eye to the coming invasion seemed ridiculous.

  “Kahan Kadar, we’ve come in good faith,” he said. “I know you think I’m not to be trusted, and I don’t blame you for that. I came here expecting to be punished however you decide. But—”

  “There will be no punishment for you,” said Kadar.

  The reply made Lukien pause. “No punishment?”

  “Have you not already been destroyed?” asked Kadar. “Have you not said so yourself? What more could I possibly do to you? You came here prepared to die. I know what that is like. That is enough.”

  Enough. The word surprised Lukien. Despite the suffering of his last sixteen years, he still expected cruelty from Kadar. Instead he was getting mercy.

  “Then let me help you,” he said suddenly. “You’re going to need my help against Akeela.”

  “Lukien, easy,” said Thorin.

  Lukien ignored him. “Kadar, listen to me. Akeela is coming. You have to believe that. And if you’re not going to kill me, than at least let me try to repay you for my wrongs. Let me help defend Jador.”

  For the first time, Kadar smiled at him. “You can never repay me for taking my Jitendra. But now you know what that hole in my heart is like. It is impossible to fill.” He moved to the door. “I will think on what you’ve said. You will wait here in the palace. Rooms will be prepared for you.”

  “My lord, wait,” pleaded Lukien. “There’s no time for you to consider things. You have to act at once. You have to start preparing yourself for Akeela’s invasion.”

  Kadar put up his hand as if uninterested. “No more talk. Rest. Food and drink will be brought to you. We will speak again.”

  Before he could leave the room Lukien was once again on his heels. “Wait, one more thing,” he said. “How did you learn to speak our tongue? You didn’t speak it sixteen years ago, I’m sure.”

  “I had a good teacher, Bronze Knight,” replied Kadar. “And I had your people to worry about. It was time for me to learn.”

  With his strange reply hanging in the air, Kahan Kadar left the room, leaving the door open and his visitors blinking in confusion.

  44

  Akeela leaned back in his chair beneath the shade of a tree, studying the game board and his opponent’s passive face. He had already lost his best pieces to the man, but was determined this time to best him. Around him, the noise of his army continued, a constant distraction. He reached over the table for his wine, drinking it down as he considered his predicament, then pouring himself another big goblet. Lieutenant Leal looked relaxed and confident. Akeela felt anxious and cross. It had been a very hard road south and it had taken them far longer to reach Farduke then he’d hoped or expected. He was tired and irritable, and playing crusade was his only comfort, beside the drink. As soon as they had reached the border of Nith, Akeela had called Leal to play with him. Their relationship had been awkward at first, because he was not used to being around his king and hardly knew how to react. But an odd friendship had quickly grown up between the two, at Akeela’s insistence. Today they had been playing crusade for three hours straight, wasting the bulk of the afternoon while Trager and the other officers made camp. The day was warm and pleasant beneath the tree; the army had chosen a good spot to rest, just over the valley of Nith in a wide plain dotted with elm trees. The plain was more than large enough to accommodate Akeela’s two thousand men, plus all their horses, wagons, weapons, and supplies. And because the men were used to traveling now, the tents had gone up quickly. Cooking fires had been started for the evening meals and now lit the land for acres, like stars in the sky. General Trager’s voice came to Akeela over the breeze. The general was shouting orders in the distance, organizing his troops and making sure their horses were tended. It should have been mayhem with so many men, but Trager had a real gift for organization and things were going remarkably smoothly. According to their maps, there was a stream about half a mile east of their position, a tributary of the Agora River. Trager was having the various companies take turns watering their horses, making sure they all returned by sundown.

  “My lord, it’s your move,” said Leal.

  Akeela’s eyes tilted up from the board. “I know,” he said. “I’m thinking.”

  “Sorry, my lord.”

  “You’re trying to distract me, Leal. It won’t work.”

  He was a good man, the lieutenant, and according to Trager an excellent soldier. But when it came to playing crusade, he was a giant and had beaten Akeela in almost every game. And of the few games he had won, Akeela suspected Leal had deliberately not played his best. At last he reached for a game piece, moving his general across the board. Leal considered the move for only a moment, then brought out a catapult. The speed of the lieutenant’s decision irritated Akeela.

  “Are you sure that’s the move you want to make?” he asked. “You didn’t even think about it!”

  “I did think about it, my lord,” replied the soldier. “I knew if you moved your general, I’d move my catapult.”

  “Fine.”

  Akeela sank back into his own dark thoughts. Though he was losing badly, he was grateful for the distraction of the game. Since losing Cassandra, his mind had been a wasteland of misery and drink. He missed Koth and the comforts of Lionkeep, and he missed knowing his beloved wife was only a few steps away, safely locked in her private wing. Now all those things were gone, and all that remained were bad memories. And though it had been many years since he had left Koth, he derived no pleasure from their current travels or the beautiful countryside. He wanted only to reach Ganjor, and then Jador. And then, to find and kill Lukien.

  “My lord?” asked Leal suddenly.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think Prince Daralor will let us cross?”

  “I’m sure he will,” replied Akeela, surprised by the forwardness of the question. “One way or another.”

  Leal glanced away from the board, looking southward toward Nith. So far, their heralds had not returned. But Akeela wasn’t worried. He expected an answer from Daralor soon, quite probably by nightfall.

  “The people of Nith are proud, my lord,” Leal reminded him.

  “Now you sound like Trager,” said Akeela. “Don’t let his pessimism rub off on you, Leal. Once Daralor sees the size of our army, he’ll let us pass, just as all the others have.”

  The words seemed to comfort Leal. Since leaving Koth, their army had met no resistance. Instead, the kings and princes of the lands they traveled had welcomed them, no doubt frightened by their size and reputation. Akeela supposed Trager was to thank for that, for the general had built the Liirian military into the terror of the world. In Marn and Farduke, they had even been greeted as heroes. They had been showered with gifts and good food and their supplies had been replenished, all thanks to the hard work of Will Trager. Akeela was grateful to his surly general. Now that Graig was gone, Trager was his only friend in the world.

  “The general thinks we should go around,” said Leal. “He says it would only cost us a day or so.”

  “We will not go around,” said Akeela. His eyes narrowed on the game pieces, wondering if he should take Leal’s catapult. “We don’t have the time to spare.”

  “The general thinks we do, my lord. He’s worried about crossing Nith.”

  “The general doesn’t make those decisions,” said Akeela. “Now be quiet and let me think.”

  In his annoyance he quickly moved his cavalryman, taking Leal’s catapult. Leal smiled, then moved his war tower to take the cavalryman. Akeela’s head began to pound. With an angry grunt he picked up his goblet and took a long drink, the only thing that ever deadened his pain. When the goblet was drained he slammed it down on the little table, sending the game pieces jumping.
r />   “I’m sick of this,” he hissed. “I’m sick of being out here in the middle of nowhere, and I’m sick of all this bloody noise!”

  The men around him making camp shot him nervous glances. Embarrassed, Akeela took a deep breath. Very carefully, Leal started to replace the pieces Akeela had toppled.

  “We could start a new game, my lord,” he suggested.

  “What, and surrender? Forget it, boy. We continue.”

  “As you wish, my lord. It’s your move.”

  As always, the arrangement of the pieces favored Leal. Akeela wasn’t sure there was any point in continuing, but he was determined not to let talk of Nith throw his game. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, the little principality had made his vaunted army nervous. Even Trager had been hounding him to go around Nith rather than through it, a detour that would have wasted precious days. As he considered the board and his dismal options, Akeela remembered Trager’s warning.

  “Bloody brigands,” he muttered.

  “My lord?”

  Akeela looked up at Leal, suddenly realizing he was talking to himself. “Nothing. I was just . . . thinking.”

  He tried returning his attention to the game, but was disturbed by a peculiar call out in the distance. Both he and Leal turned to see riders approaching from the south. They were his heralds, returning from Nith. Behind them rode a small band bearing the blue-and-gold standard of Nith. Akeela grinned. General Trager saw the riders approaching, then glanced across the field at him.

  “I knew they’d come.” Akeela waved the general over to him. “You see, Leal? I know how rulers like Daralor think.”

  Lieutenant Leal got to his feet as his general approached. Trager gave him a sour smile.

  “Having a good time, Lieutenant?” asked Trager sarcastically.

  “At ease, General,” said Akeela. “He’s only doing as I’ve asked.”

  Trager gestured to the coming horsemen. “Looks like you got your wish, Akeela. That’s Daralor himself.”

  “Is it?” asked Akeela. He got to his feet and stared out over the field. Besides his heralds, there were seven men approaching from the valley. The one in the lead wore a bright green cape and a golden crown on his head.

  “There, you see, Will?” he said happily. “I told you they’d come to talk, and here’s the prince himself.”

  “Don’t congratulate yourself yet, Akeela,” warned Trager. “Daralor might just be coming out to spit in our faces.”

  Prince Daralor rode quickly once he saw Akeela’s pavilion, which was larger than the rest and topped with the blue flag of Liiria. The Liirian heralds now rode at his sides, their silver armor brilliant in the sun. Daralor himself wore no armor, but instead dressed in a fine red tunic and brown breeches. His emerald cape billowed behind him. He looked stunning on his white horse, the very picture of royalty. From across the plain he smiled warmly. Akeela’s fears instantly vanished. Like all the other kings and princes, he knew Daralor would yield.

  The heralds rode up to Akeela and dismounted. They bowed first to Trager, then greeted Akeela.

  “Prince Daralor, my lord, as you asked.”

  Daralor brought his horse to a stop ten paces away. His armored knights fell in behind him. When he dismounted, his men did the same. But they did not approach Akeela as the prince did. Daralor went alone to greet Akeela. When he was almost in Akeela’s shadow, he fell to one knee and hung his head.

  “Your Grace, welcome to Nith. I am Prince Daralor.”

  He had a voice like music and a handsome, hairless face. It was hard to imagine him a military hero, yet legend held he had freed Nith from Marn. Seeing him reminded Akeela of all his own past glories, and how so many of them had fallen to ashes.

  “Thank you, Prince Daralor,” said Akeela. “Arise, please.”

  Daralor rose then quickly gestured to one of his men, who stepped forward bearing a small wooden box. The prince took the box and, smiling, presented it to Akeela.

  “For you, Your Grace. A gift from the people of Nith.”

  Akeela beamed. “A gift?” He turned to Trager. “Well, what do you think of that, Will?”

  Trager scowled but said nothing. Akeela happily opened the box, finding inside it a brilliant gold ring with a giant, sparkling diamond.

  “A small token of our esteem, Your Grace,” said Daralor. “When your heralds told me you had come, I knew I had to greet you myself.”

  “You honor me, Prince Daralor,” said Akeela. “Thank you.” He took the ring from the box and admired it. The flawless facets of the diamond twinkled in the sunlight.

  “Your Grace is pleased?” asked Daralor.

  “Very,” said Akeela. “It’s beautiful. And it’s very welcome, Prince. Some of my men were worried you would turn us away. I’m gladdened to know you welcome us.”

  “Your Grace comes with a great army,” said the prince. “Word of it reached us some days ago. We have prepared for your coming.”

  Something in the statement made Trager bristle. “Prepared, Prince? What exactly does that mean?”

  Akeela said quickly, “This is my general, Will Trager. I’m afraid he doesn’t trust you, Prince Daralor.”

  “Your Grace has our best wishes and kindest thoughts,” said Daralor, “but there is truth in your general’s counsel.”

  Akeela’s face fell. “Oh?”

  “The Principality of Nith is very small, Your Grace, very easily gone around.” The Prince smiled. “Would it not be simple for your army to skirt our valley?”

  Trager gestured angrily at Daralor. “You see, Akeela? I told you this would be his way.”

  “Shut up, Will,” snapped Akeela. He returned Daralor’s unnerving grin. “Prince Daralor, I’m not sure you understand the importance of my journey. I’m hunting the man who killed my wife. Time is of the essence. I cannot waste any time taking my army around Nith.”

  Daralor refused to be shaken. “Your Grace is wise, and I feel for your loss. We in Nith know of your queen’s death and are saddened. But we have a history of our own to protect. There have been no foreign soldiers on Nithin soil since the war with Marn. I’m afraid we cannot allow it.”

  “We come in peace, Prince Daralor, I assure you,” said Trager. “We want nothing from Nith but a quick route to Ganjor.”

  “I understand,” said the prince. “But how long could it possibly take you to go around our valley? A day? Two, perhaps? You have already traveled many weeks from Koth. What could two more days mean?”

  “We have indeed traveled many weeks, Prince,” said Akeela, “and we’re very tired of the journey. And any time wasted is time for my quarry to escape me, time for him to enjoy freedom he doesn’t deserve. I thank you for your gift, but I must ask you to reconsider. After all, other countries have allowed us to pass.”

  “They have allowed it because they fear you, Your Grace.”

  “And what about you?” asked Trager pointedly. “Don’t you fear us?”

  Prince Daralor frowned. “We are Nithins. We fought and defeated Marn. We fear nothing.”

  There was challenge in Daralor’s tone. Behind him, his armored knights stood erect. The arrogance of their expressions made Akeela’s insides clench. He took a small step forward, held the diamond ring out daintily in two fingers, then let it drop to Daralor’s feet.

  “I don’t like your argument, Prince,” he said. “And I don’t like anyone standing in my way. You have seen my army. You know that we can best you easily. Will you yield?”

  “No, Your Grace, we will not,” replied the prince. “What you ask is impossible, and I can’t allow it.”

  “Tomorrow morning we break camp,” said Akeela. He pointed southward. “We’re going that way, right through your valley. It’s the quickest route to Ganjor, and we won’t be dissuaded.”

  “Then we will defend what is ours, Your Grace,” said Daralor. “We will not let our sovereignty be trampled.”

  “You’ll be crushed,” warned Trager. “Prince Daralor, reconsider.”<
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  “Go around,” said Daralor.

  “We won’t,” said Akeela.

  The two rulers locked eyes. It infuriated Akeela to know Daralor thought them equal. At last the prince stooped and picked up the ring he had presented Akeela, dusting the dirt from its diamond.

  “I will wear this on the battlefield,” he told Akeela. “And if you still want it, you will have to take it from me.”

  Then he turned to go, quickly mounting his horse. His knights did the same. Before riding off Daralor gave Akeela a final, disdainful glare. As the Nithins rode away, Trager shook a frustrated fist.

  “Now that was brilliant,” he spat. “Fate above, Akeela, what were you thinking? Now we’ll have to go around, and hope they don’t ambush us.”

  Akeela looked at Trager as if he’d heard the highest treason. “No, General, we won’t be going around. We’re not going to waste another blasted minute. Lukien is in Jador, waiting for us. He’s living free, while Cassandra rots in her grave. So we’re going straight through this damnable country. At dawn, with swords drawn. And if anyone tries to stop us, they will die.”

  He sat back down at the table and once again considered the game pieces. Trager and Leal hovered over the board, staring at him.

  “I suggest you prepare your men for battle, Will,” said Akeela. “And Leal, sit down and finish this damn game.”

  At dawn they broke camp. Doing so had become a common ritual for the traveling army, and they did it with their usual efficiency. Within an hour they were on their way to Nith. The green valley gently sloped down into a blanket of morning mist, obscuring the distance and the tall, ancient elm trees. Despite the noise of the wagons and horses, it was an eerily quiet morning. Akeela, riding at the head of his army, listened to the drone of insects. At his side rode Trager, nervously scanning the fog and trees. He was sure an ambush was coming, and had warned his men to expect it. Throughout the night he had pleaded with Akeela to reconsider his decision. Akeela sat high in his saddle as he rode, daring an assassin to kill him. Unlike Trager he feared no ambush, secure in the knowledge that Daralor would never stoop to such tactics. There had been too much pride in the young ruler’s eyes.